"You're getting a little bit maudlin about that farm, Mr. Headman, and it will do you good to get away for a few days. There are _some other_ things in life, though I admit they are few, and we are not to forget them. I am up to my ears in plans for the house and the home lot; but I can't quite see what you find so interesting in tearing down old barns and fences and turning over old sods." "Every heart knoweth its own sorrow, Polly, and I have my troubles." Friday evening, September 6, I returned from the west. My first greeting was,-- "How's the farm, Polly?" "It's there, or was yesterday; I think you'll find things running smoothly." "Have they sowed the alfalfa and cut the oats?" "Yes." "Finished the farm-house?" "No, not quite, but the painters are there, and Nelson has commenced work on two other buildings." "What time can I breakfast? I must catch the 8.10 train, and spend a long day where things are doing." Things were humming at Four Oaks when I arrived. Ten carpenters besides Nelson and his son were pounding, sawing, and making confusion in all sorts of ways peculiar to their kind. The ploughmen were busy. Thompson and the other two men were shocking oats. I spent the day roaming around the place, watching the work and building castles. I went to the alfalfa field to see if the seed had sprouted. Disappointed in this, I wandered down to the brook and planned some abridgment of its meanderings. It could be straightened and kept within bounds without great expense if the work were done in a dry season. Polly had asked for a winding brook with a fringe of willows and dogwood, but I would not make this concession to her esthetic taste. This farm land must be useful to the sacrifice of everything else. A winding brook would be all right on the home lot, if it could be found, but not on the farm. A straight ditch for drainage was all that I would permit, and I begrudged even that. No waste land in the cultivated fields, was my motto. I had threshed this out with Polly and she had yielded, after stipulating that I must keep my hands off the home forty. Over in the woods I found two men at work splitting fence posts. They seemed expert, and I asked them how many they could make in a day. "From 90 to 125, according to the timber. But we must work hard to make good wages." "That applies to other things besides post-splitting, doesn't it?" Closer inspection of the wood lot gratified me exceedingly. Little had been done for it except by Nature, but she had worked with so prodigal a hand that it showed all kinds of possibilities, both for beauty and for utility. Before leaving the place, I had a little talk with Nelson. "Everything is going on nicely," he said. "I have ten carpenters, and they are a busy lot. If I can only hold them on to the job, things will go well." "What's the matter? Can't you hold them?"